The Spark of the Secret
by purplepop07
Summary: Breelle Tylk is an unlikely candidate for the Hunger Games. Like everyone else in the 12 Districts, her name is entered in the drawing for the Reaping. But when her name is drawn from the shuffle,  she is faced with life or death choices... Life or love?
1. Chapter 1: Bree

Rhiannon lifts my leg to stretch it. The methodical counting down from twenty seconds begins in my mind. _Twenty, nineteen, eighteen..._

"So, the Reaping is tomorrow," she begins, a smile creeping on her face. "Mr. Wolffe has been training me. I'm sure to be strongly considered as a volunteer."

I roll my eyes. _Fourteen, thirteen, twelve..._Here in District 1, it's a huge deal to volunteer for the Hunger Games, a competition where kids from the ages of twelve to eighteen fight to the death until there's one person left-a victor. Mr. Wolffe is a very pricey trainer. He trains many of the high-class kids, like Rhi and I, in District 1. He showed me that I am a quick, silent killer with swords and knives, and that I am excellent at running and climbing(due to my flexibility from dancing). I am unlike Rhiannon though, because I fear the Reaping. Every year since I turned twelve-and I am now fifteen-I have been fearful that on one Reaping, my name would be called. But last year, there were so many volunteers that I didn't even have to fear. I don't even care anymore, because I know my name won't be called.

_Three, two, one... _I switch my leg so that Rhiannon can stretch the other one. The countdown starts again, as Rhi bores me with her excitement for the possibility of her being chosen as a tribute.

"What if they choose Kai Pimmelton? She's so good with an axe! Oh my gosh, what about Glimmer! She's gorgeous! They probably already have their sights set on her," she babbles, her frizzy dark blonde hair already arranging itself like a curly sun around her face.

I begin to tune out her incessant chatter about the Games and focus on what really matters to me, ballet. Soon, the stretching is over and I warm up on the barre, letting my mind wander. I begin to think of all of those foolish volunteers who are so willing to give up their lives at a moment's notice to kill innocent people and possibly be killed as well. Well, that won't be me. Not this year, not ever. It certainly won't be my ten-year-old twin siblings, Olive and Vernon. I'll do everything to make sure that doesn't happen. My parents, on the other hand, are stupid. They put us through training, each of us beginning at the age of five. They want us to volunteer. In a sense, I've already let them down. My parents become more distant from me every year that my name doesn't get called.

That night, I fall into a dreamless sleep. When I awaken, my maid comes and greets me with a comb and a cup of tea. She gently brushes my hair and arranges it into a beautiful braided bun with pink and white ribbons weaved in and out of it, letting a few of my auburn curls escape. She slides a strapless, pink floral dress over my head and ties a large white ribbon around my small waist when suddenly the thought hits me: it's Reaping Day. My heart thumps so loudly that I think it might explode. My mother comes in my room and greets me coldly.

Without even looking at me, she says, "Let's hope you finally make us proud this year." I feel my face turn a deep shade of red in anger, but I bite my tongue.

"Anyone with sense wouldn't want their firstborn daughter to die. Just saying," I mutter.

We all leave and head to the town square, where thousands of other people stand pressed together like sardines. We are all pressed close to the stage, where Gaelyn Voltz, our representative from the Capitol, stands smiling in her hideous pale pink skin and ridiculous hot-pink begins.

"Welcome, people of the fabulous District 1,to the Reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games! I am so happy to be here with you on this fine, sunny morning!" Her plastered, fake smile irritates me, just like all of the other people from the Capitol. But as usual, the deafening applause rises from the crowd. She goes on, "Yes, well today is going to be very special!"

Gaelyn blabbers on about how this year's Games are going to be especially entertaining and fun. She pleasantly introduces us to our deaths, and makes some lighthearted jokes here and there, inciting fake laughter from the crowd. _Suck ups,_I think. Bored,I stare down at my flats that I had custom made to somewhat resemble my ballet point shoes. That is, until Gaelyn says, "Let's get down to business!" and sticks her hand into the huge, ornate glass bowl. She digs around for a bit, and then pulls out a name. I feel sorry for the poor sap whose name is about to be called-

"Breelle Tylk?" Oh. My. God. That "poor sap" is me. I am literally frozen in place. Shaking, I am shaking now. A huge grin spreads across my parents' faces and my brother and sister are cheering, but I can't hear anything or anyone because the only sound that permeates my eardrums is the thumping of my heart. "Breelle? Are you here?" Gaelyn asks, scanning the crowd.

My mother shoves me foward. I force myself to move, to blink, to breathe. Then I hear shouts from around the square. "Hell, if she doesn't want it, I'll take it!" a familiar voice trills, high and clear. It belongs to Glimmer.

"Do we have _any _takers-" Gaelyn begins to ask, but my father interrupts her, saying, "Bree is _happy _to accept the offer," His voice lowers. "_Aren't _you Bree?" A small, choked "Yes." comes out of the back of my throat, as I slowly make my ascent up the platform. Everything is too bright for this moment. Gaelyn's hair and skin, the sun that tauntingly shines brightly in my face, the smiles on my parents' faces, the cheers from the crowd. I stand as Gaelyn announces the boy tribute named Marvel (I don't really know much about him), whose secretly jealous friends cheer for him as he cockily runs up the platform, slapping people's hands as he runs.

"Congratulations, tributes. District 1, meet your new tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

As cheers and applause echo through the throngs of people, I can't help but think that the ascent to the platform of the District 1 Justice Building may very likely be my last...


	2. Chapter 2: Bree

Gaelyn escorts me to a private room in the Justice Building, where I have exactly ten minutes to say my goodbyes. My face hardens when my parents walk in, jack-o-lantern-like grins spreading across their faces, but my heart aches when my siblings rush over to me, clutching onto me and covering my face with kisses. I breathe deeply—holding back tears—as Rhiannon walks in, assessing my reddened nose.

"You're about to cry? _Really?_ Oh my God. I can't believe that you got chosen for the Games and you don't even want to go." Rhi says, disappointment evident in her voice. I start to say, "I'm sorry," but then I realize I have nothing to be sorry about. I don't want to die like stupid Rhiannon and Marvel and Glimmer. I wasn't trying to condemn myself by being chosen. As my fate would have it, though, coincidentally, I was chosen.

My father scolds me. "Be happy you were chosen, you ungrateful little thing. Many people would kill to be in your position right now. You need to win so that you can finally bring honor upon this family."

My own father has betrayed me, but it's nothing new. He had wanted to be in the Games himself, when he was younger, but had never been chosen, and therefore had lost his own parents' love. I suppose that it is bitterness (and vicarious living) that drives his desire for me to be chosen and win the Hunger Games.

It is with these bitter remarks that I part from my friends and family, leaving behind all of the people I "love" and enter into this new perilous world I will encounter as a tribute. But first things first; my short train ride to the Capitol.

The ride takes a total of five nerve-wracking hours, and I am scared because I've never been on a train. The night is sleepless, and Gaelyn wakes me early in the day to tell me that I have a busy day ahead of me. I slide on a bright, luxuriously soft orange cashmere sweater and a pair of cropped black pants with a sharp crease down the center of the leg. I then slide on some black flats that I found in the armoire. My stomach turns as I tie my auburn hair back with a ponytail-holder. I can picture my different possible deaths now: a spear through my stomach, a knife across my throat, a pack of rabid animals eating me, starvation, and many more possibilities. My heart aches at breakfast as Marvel shoves food down his throat.

It is when I get to the Capitol when I forget about the games. It is when I look up around me at the beautiful, odd, brightly colored buildings and the citizens with their hideous fashion styles. It all looks like one big freak show to me. I begin to laugh quietly as Gaelyn quickly switches her voice back to her normal, Capitol accent, gushing to my stylists over my natural beauty and easiness to work with. And she would know…how?

My styling team surrounds Marvel and I, rushing us to separate rooms where they strip me completely naked and leave. I stand staring at my bare body in the mirror, my eyes skating over the long waves of my tresses, the curve of my small waist, the shape of my hips. Then the door opens suddenly, startling me so much that I immediately cover my bare breasts. A stylist dressed in an outlandish sky blue and green jumpsuit surveys my body for at least ten minutes. "My name is Uman," he finally starts in his thick accent. "You are going to be so easy to work with, Breelle."

After some waxing and plucking and poking and prodding, I glance in the mirror at myself. Uman did a great job playing up my assets, but the look is not original. Everything about me is red; I am wearing a floor-length, cherry-colored gown with thin straps and gold sparkles—much of my ample cleavage is showing. My hair hangs down my back in dark red ringlets. My eyes are covered in a shimmery gold shadow that emphasizes the reds in my brown irises, while my lips are painted cherry red. My nails are a pretty shade of gold—the same as my high heels; but I knew this look wasn't original, since I had heard that another District would be doing the same.

After making my appearance on the carpet with Marvel (who looked dashing in a red tuxedo), I saw it. No, not it, him. The most marvelous boy I had ever seen. He was from District 12, and I was clearly not the only one staring at him and his female partner. The two's costumes literally had the appearance of being on fire, and I knew when I saw the boy, my heart had been searching for him all along—though I couldn't put my finger on what made him so special…

Love at first sight, I guess you could say; but there's no room for love in the Hunger Games. He must die.


	3. Chapter 3: Bree

Running, I'm running now. The sweat drips down my face and I am running from something…but what? My heart races against my ribcage. I can feel the darkness creeping up on me, creeping slowly…

I wake up, gasping as sweat drips down my face. I look around the unfamiliar room and see that it's early in the morning—about 6:00. I sink back down into the plush, soft bed that can only be one that District 1 made for the Capitol. As soon as I lay my head down, I am bombarded with Gaelyn's overenthusiastic voice trilling wake-up calls through the door. I groan as I unwillingly get up and open the door for her.

As Gaelyn walks this way and that, discussing the outfit changes and events for the day, I can't help but wonder if every District Representative behaves in this overly-cheery, annoying manner. She runs her mouth and I slump against the foot of the bed until she picks me up by my arm saying, "Heeeyyy, do you hear me talking to you?" She loosens her grip on my arm for a minute, ponders, and then has the nerve to ask the question I had hoped she wouldn't, "Aren't you a little…_scrawny _for a Career kid?"

Inhaling deeply with a scowl ever sliding onto my face, I slowly begin. "No... I just don't devote my whole life to kill and be killed, like Marvel." I am determined leave it at that, but Gaelyn doesn't seem to be satisfied. I can tell by the way she cocks her head to the side like a confused puppy.

"Don't frown. You'll get premature wrinkles, and we don't want that, do we?"

Great. Here I am worried about my life, when Gaelyn's biggest worry for me is that I'll somehow end up getting parentheses around my mouth, and that the Capitol will have to spend the time giving me botox injections like the rest of them. I roll my eyes obviously, while she quickly lays out a white button-down shirt and crisp khaki pants with brown boots for me to wear to training.

I don't talk to anyone at the breakfast table, especially not Marvel, who I know I will have to kill in the arena. Best not to make friends now. As I walk past the table, though, something catches my eye on the TV screen. I watch intently as the reporters recap the opening ceremonies last night. They briefly show Marvel and I, looking like a pair of two glamorous, luscious red strawberries with gold hints here and there, and other tributes; but the one that catches my eye is at the very end, when the most footage is shown. It's the boy—my boy—from District 12. A slow blush immediately tints my entire body, and I begin to go weak at the knees. The cameras briefly show his face; that genuine, friendly smile, that sophisticated coiffed blond hair under the flaming headdress, those beautiful, bright, baby-blue eyes that stood out on him most of all. Then the cameras zoom in closer, so that the viewer can see what the hot talk is about. I see the boy and his female partner holding hands, and my heart drops. My face flushes when I see how beautiful she is, and I think that she may be one of the most uniquely beautiful girls I've ever seen. Something wicked brews inside of me, making me even more determined to kill this girl.

Marvel looks up and sees how angry my face is. Then he begins to do the most irritating thing: laugh. He's laughing at my weakness. He's laughing at my jealousy. Most of all, he's laughing at the intent to kill clearly written on my face.

"They're D-12 kids. They won't stand a chance," he says, still smiling. We District 1 kids consider ourselves superior to other districts to the point where we don't even acknowledge them as districts. We just call them "D-_something_." I began to consider the truth in his statement. In all seventy-five years the Hunger Games have been around, only 3 people have won from District 12. That's nothing compared to the droves of kids who win from the Career's districts. For some reason, this comforts me in my ability to kill these D-12ers.

In group training, I try out the different stations, keeping my eyes fixed on the girl from D-12. I stare her down, but she doesn't even acknowledge me. I begin to make my way towards the boy, who is at the camouflage station—which I am no good at—squatting down to arrange the grasses and mud that lie on the ground in bowls. As I reach for the grass to camouflage a dummy, my fingers accidentally brush his, and I blush.

"Oh…sorry," I say, afraid I've somehow repelled him. He doesn't actually look in my eyes as he says, "It's fine," he says, and I realize I still don't know his name. I turn to him, and fully take in his features; the straight, slightly upturned nose, the swishy, wavy blond hair, the full lips that have spread into a bit of a half-smile as he still doesn't look at me with those blue eyes. I introduce myself.

"My name is Breelle, but you can call me Bree."

With this, the boy turns to look at me. It is then when I see his eyes, wide with dilated pupils. He knocks over the bowl of mud and scrambles to clean it up, while I blush, thinking I did something wrong. He turns a bright shade of red and shyly says, "Uh, hi. Sorry, my name is Peeta. Nice to meet you." Peeta holds out his hand while I stare at it like an idiot. Then, he looks down to see that it is covered in mud and quickly withdraws it. "Oh," he mutters.

Before I realize it, I'm smiling and grabbing his other hand, shaking it firmly. Then I quickly let go, reminding myself that there is no room for love in the Games, but I also notice that he is helplessly staring at his female tribute. I'm curious, so I ask, "What's her name?"

Peeta breathes in sharply, snapping out of his momentary daze. "Um, Katniss," he says quickly. Katniss. So that was her name. She's named after an aquatic plant. _That's_ attractive.

A long moment of silence passes between us before I finally say, "She's pretty," and I realize that I'm not lying. She has long, straight black hair that goes with her lean, athletic frame. Her eyes are gray, which is a stark contrast to her olive skin. She looks like she could send an arrow right through my brain if she wanted to, and then I remember that she does. I remember that Peeta is my enemy. I remember that he wants to kill me too, just like everyone in this room.

While Peeta squats on the ground, staring at me like an idiot, I get up and saunter off without another word. It's on.


	4. Chapter 4: Bree

The knife whizzes out of my hand and straight through the dummy's chest, piercing the wall. In one swift move, I leap up to the balcony and hang upside down from it, slitting the dummy's throat. I then put the knife away, but draw my sword and chop the dummy swiftly in half, not making a sound. Gracefully leaping to the ground with my catlike reflexes, I take a bow and smile at the Gamemakers (making sure to wink at one of the younger ones).

They all clap for me in amusement, cheering and blowing kisses my way as they sip their fine wines. When I am dismissed, I strut out of the individual training room in my best dancer's gait, making sure that they admire my beauty and hoping that through this, they will give me a better score in training. I am the first tribute to go today.

As I come across the tributes' chairs (where each of the tributes sit while waiting for individual training, which is more like a showcase of talent), I make sure to give Katniss and Peeta dirty looks. Let them hate me. It makes them so much easier to kill.

Peeta looks at me sheepishly as he holds hands with Katniss, but I smile. Not a friendly smile, no, a sinister smile. The smile of a beast gazing upon its prey. But something inside me wants it to be _my _hand that he's holding, _my _face he gazes upon with such admiration. I shake the idea off quickly.

I don't know where I'm going, so I end up wandering around the dark hall in front of the glass elevator. I pace back and forth, unsure of what to do, until I hear the soft padding of Peeta's footsteps on the plush carpet. My insides scream.

"Lost?" he asks, honestly.

"Not really," I say, rolling my eyes. I wish he would go away. I wish I couldn't hear his low breathing. I wish I couldn't sense his hurt at my reaction. I wish I wasn't attracted to him.

"Oh," he starts. "I was just trying to help you find the restroom, if that's what you're looking for." I can practically hear his heart speeding up as he grabs my arm innocently to lead me in the direction his body is heading. I let him lead me towards the restroom, but stop when we get to a small corridor in the hallway. The space is very small, but there is a cushioned bench that I sit on while Peeta stands awkwardly, staring at me. Then, he sits at a distance, eyes downcast.

"Why are you talking to me?" I ask, whisper-screaming angrily. "What do you want from me?"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" he starts. "_You're _the one who talked to _me _first."

Oddly, I scoot closer and closer till I am practically on his lap, and when his breathing gets heavier, I realize that I'm playing my cards right. I drop my voice to a low tone, pressing my lips close to his ear. "You could kill me, Peeta. I know you want to."

He blushes and stands to leave, but I quickly rise to block his path. "Move, please," he says with irritation clear in his voice. I smile mischievously and push him to agitate him.

He closes in the distance between us, dropping his voice to a low, sensual tone (imitating me). "Move, Bree."

It is when he towers over me that I can see how much stronger he is. He is not the almost-delicate-faced boy with the pretty blue eyes anymore. He is so much stronger, so much more muscular. So much more…attractive. I am not afraid of him. I move my body close to his until we are touching, and then wrap my arms around his neck, moving his hands around my waist. My body is acting before my mind can, and before I know it, I am kissing him. Our lips fit perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces that have finally united. It takes me a few seconds to realize what I have done.

Shoving Peeta away, I look into his eyes, wide with confusion. A long, awkward silence passes between us before he blushes again, saying, "I, um…I should go." I nod repetitively as I watch him walk off.

I don't know how long we were here together, so I absently begin to walk back to the common room. As soon as I start to pay attention, though, I run straight into Marvel, my face slamming into his.

"HEY!" he exclaims. "What the…? Watch where you're going, kid!" Kid. So I am a kid now.

"Sorry," I mutter. "Let's go upstairs."

As soon as I get to my room, I plop onto the bed in exasperation. My mind aches as it races through the day, replaying my kiss with Peeta over and over again. I touch my finger to my lips where his own had been. Before I know it, I am peacefully asleep. I awaken to find myself wearing a pink silk nightgown, wondering how it got onto my body. Sliding on slippers, I slosh my feet through the carpet and out of the room into the dining room, where Marvel and Gaelyn sit. I look around, and on the couch I see Uman and two of the members of my styling team.

Uman looks up at me as I stretch to break the hold sleep still has on my body. "Princess Beauty's finally awoken from her deep sleep," he jokes, clapping his hands together in content. Marvel begins to clap too, loudly and obnoxiously, and I can tell he's had quite a bit of wine tonight by the way his breath reeks from where I stand.

"Well un, well unnnn!" Marvel exclaims drunkenly, as his words slur together. "Yu manage to shlee thru dah WHOLE AFTERNEWWN."

Rolling my eyes, I snatch the silver goblet from his fingers. "No more."

"Givett bakkk…" He sloppily tries to reach for the goblet, but quickly decides against it. Instead, he drops his head onto the table and immediately falls asleep, snoring loudly.

I roll my eyes, as the television switches to breaking news. Caesar Flickerman popped on the screen, everything about him colored powder blue. "Good evening," he began. "Tonight, we will present to you the scores each tribute received during training. Let's begin with District 1."

My throat clamps up, and I break out in a cold sweat. The scores a tribute gets (a number between 1 and 12) in training determines how well he or she does in the arena, and, ultimately, determines how many sponsors they will get. Caesar introduces Marvel, as a cute picture of him is shown on the screen with the number 9 underneath it. Too bad he isn't awake to see his good score.

Then it is my turn. My heart drops and I can't breathe. I am introduced, and a stunning headshot of me is shown. The number 12 appears slowly underneath my name, and I drop the silver goblet in my hand. The room goes silent, my heart being the loudest sound in the area. Uman and Gaelyn slowly look my way, and Gaelyn and I simultaneously yell out a girly shriek. We grab each other's hands and do that annoying jump-up-and-down dance that many girls do when they are excited. My face is red in excitement, and Uman congratulates me by swooping me into a huge hug.

I remind myself to look back at the television just as a picture of a small, young girl District 11 is shown with the number 7 underneath it. I wonder what she did in order to get her score, as someone that small can be killed so easily.

What catches my eye is the D-12ers that are shown. Peeta is first, receiving a solid 10. I imagine what his talent must be, and then I remember how he stood over me earlier; how his muscular body pressed against mine when we kissed. It must be his strength.

Katniss is shown next, her name flashing across the screen with a picture of her scowling like a sourpuss. Then, the number 11 is revealed under her name. A deep rage creeps through my body. She is not as good as me, no, but she is somehow an amazing fighter. Better than the Careers (except for me). How? I think of her amazingly toned, lean arms and how graceful they moved, and then it hits me: archery. I grunt angrily and storm out of the room, into my own, and slam the door.

Whatever it takes to eliminate the competition, I will do it.


	5. Chapter 5: Peeta

**DISCLAIMER: I DO USE QUOTES FROM THE BOOK WRITTEN BY SUZANNE COLLINS. I DO NOT CLAIM ANY SIMILAR IDEAS OR WORDS AS MY OWN AND I AM NOT TRYING TO PUBLISH THIS STORY. I RENOUNCE ANY CLAIMS OF COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT.**

I wake up early and walk around the room, thinking about how I am going to protect Katniss in the Games. I'd rather die than have her die unprotected and alone. Yet ever since I first laid eyes on Bree, I've had my mind set on her, too. I'm not sure if it's possible to fall in love at first sight _twice_, but I know I definitely have the same feelings for Bree as with Katniss. I order a glass of orange juice for my room, and then think some more.

Something about Bree draws me into her. Maybe it's her beauty. I know it's shallow to think it might be, but I do not exaggerate when I say that she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, with her long, wavy auburn hair, intense brown eyes with hints of red, right down to her flawless grace and poise. She's more beautiful than Katniss, though my love for Katniss has a deeper hold in my heart since I have loved her since the age of five. But Breelle is cocky, sarcastic, and very irritating—maybe that's what I like. She has spunk that most other girls don't have, and her thinking she's better than me makes me want her so much more. I can't stop thinking about what it felt like to have her in my arms, to have her lips pressed on mine, to feel her lips pressed against my ear…

Effie Trinket, our District Representative from the Capitol, bursts in my room, startling me so much that I drop my orange juice, staining the plush white carpet. "Goooooood morning! We have a big, big, big day ahead of us! I haven't woken Katniss up yet, but you're easy to work on." When do we _not _have a "big, big, big" day ahead of us? I rub my eyes and politely ask Effie to leave so I can shower.

As soon as she leaves, I strip myself of clothing and stand under the scalding water that drenches me from the showerhead, jumping back at the heat that licks my skin. As I quickly turn the heat down and survey the damage done to my skin, I think about what I will say in my interview. Haymitch and I have discussed a plan of action, but I'm a little nervous on following through with it because I'm not sure how Katniss will react…or Bree…

I step out of the shower, naked, as Portia (my stylist) and the rest of my styling team burst into the bathroom. I let out a yelp as I attempt to cover my genitals, but the obnoxious woman with the orange skin and hair named Fayne slaps my hand away. Apparently, privacy is not an option here. I struggle to find a robe as I am quite literally shoved out of the room and onto the elevator, which is taking me to the preparation floor. Portia gently strips me of my robe, and I can't help but be a little embarrassed. She dresses me in a simple black suit with flame accents, and I feel like a fruitcake as she gives my eyes a smoky haze. Makeup. Fun.

When I get onto the stage, it is time for the interviews. Caesar Flickerman stands on stage, his pudgy belly hidden in his light blue suit. He introduces the tributes one by one, starting with the boy from District 1, who cockily struts to the stage in his gold suit and red bowtie. His curly hair is slicked back neatly, and I must say, the guy looks pretty good. I am secretly hoping I look as handsome so that I can impress Bree…I mean, Katniss…Oh, I don't know.

Katniss looks like a beautiful gem, with her beautiful red dress that swishes when she walks. She gives me a quick glance and touches my palm, sending shivers of delight through my spine. All of this fades away, though, when it is Bree's turn to be interviewed. My heartbeat speeds up so much that I fear I am about to have a heart attack. She is something beautiful and delicate, sultry and fabulous simultaneously. A sparkly gold, satin halter dress skims her legs mid-thigh, the skirt flowing with a thin red ribbon for trim. Her shoes are ballerina flats, a rich shade of gold, which is complemented by a seemingly gem-infused light gold dust that is sprinkled around her body. In her flat shoes, I can see her true stature: small, petite, lean, and yet curvaceous. (She probably can't even skim 5 feet two inches, as she is something more along the lines of 5 feet 1 inch.) I gulp nervously as I look at the huge television screen that has zoomed in on her head; dark red hair loose and wavy, plump lips colored to match the ribbon on her dress. Lascivious thought began to creep into my mind…

No. I cannot think about her in that way. I love Katniss Everdeen, not Breelle. But then I realize that I'm lying to myself as Bree gently takes the microphone from its stand and begans to speak, her silky voice filling the auditorium.

"Hello," she begins, taking a confident glance around the crowd—which is hushed in awe of her beauty—and smiling sheepishly. I know how _she _is going to win sponsors.

Caesar talks into his own headset. "Hello Breelle! Or rather, Bree, as I hear you like to be called," he says, smiling and nudging her. She laughs naturally and the crowd mimics her clear, ringing laughter. "Bree, you received a perfect score in training. How do you feel about that?"

She nods and smiles. "You know, I was extremely excited when I received the score, but then I thought, 'This is expected since I have been raised for perfection!'" The crowd murmurs in approval and agreement. "I really love the Hunger Games," she lies, convincingly. "I've grown up watching them."

"Well who hasn't?" Caesar asks, sending an eruption of laughter throughout the crowd. Bree's smile beams more and more.

"I've always wanted to be like the fabulous victors I see on television."

"Well you certainly are fabulous," Caesar affirms, touching the silky fabric of her dress. "And maybe you'll just be the victor this year. Ladies and Gentlemen, Breelle Tylk!"

At this point, the crowd cries shouts of, "I love you, Bree!" and "Marry me!" Caesar has to use two whole minutes to calm the crowd down, and proceeds with the interviews. When he gets to me, a lump forms in my throat as I realize I must go through with the plan, regardless of anything.

Caesar and I form a playful banter, which really gets the crowd going, but when he asks me if I have a girlfriend back home in District 12, I stop. I can feel Bree's eyes searing my back. I hesitate, but kind of shake my head no.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name." he persists.

I sigh and decide that I must go through with the plan. "Well there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

The crowd coos at my statement, and I blush a little.

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," I continue nervously.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" he encourages me while I stare at my shoes.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning…won't help in my case," I say.

"Why not?"

The blush rages all throughout my body now. "Because..um…she came here with me."

The crowd gasps in agony for me, and I look around and behind me to see Breelle's face, cold and hard in anger and disappointment. I turn quickly to look at the screen to see Katniss's face in a heated blush as well.

What have I done?


	6. Chapter 6: Bree

I curl up in a ball on my bed, crying. I am pathetic. Why am I crying about Peeta loving Katniss? I barely know him! The sobs grow harder and louder as soon as Marvel comes into my room and stares at me in pity. He awkwardly sits next to me on the bed, patting my side. He then plays with my hair, and I am sure it's because in this kind of situation, one doesn't really know what do to or say. He could lie and sugarcoat it with comforting sayings of "He's no good for you," or "He's not worth it," but he doesn't, thank God. Marvel is not the type to sugarcoat anything.

"Rough night, eh?" He says, a weary, pitiful half-smile finding its way upon his lips. I sniffle a bit, sit up, and look at him closer. He's not half bad. In fact, he's somewhat of a looker. He's definitely no Finnick Odair, but he's very attractive with his short, curly brown hair in big ringlets on his head. His features are quite different than Peeta's; Marvel has a very chiseled jaw, with a strong Grecian nose and those telltale District 1 intense brown eyes that always attract the opposite gender. His lips are a little thin, though. Nothing the Capitol can't fix.

"Yeah," I finally say. Back in District 1, Marvel and I never spoke. We went to the same school, trained with the same trainer, and our fathers were even in business together—but we never spoke. It is quite strange that now, in the time when I know one (or both) of us is going to die, he's sitting here on this plush bed comforting me. He holds me like I am a child, a little sister that he is comforting. I am curled up against him, still crying.

"You looked really pissed," he says, still stroking my hair. Was it _that _obvious?

"I was more upset than anything." When Peeta publicly declared his love for Katniss, my heart fell like it was going to fall out of my butt. (Oh, what this boy does to my heart!) I hated his guts for saying that. I wanted it to be me he loved, not her. When I got back to my room and the waterworks began, I began to realize how selfish I was for feeling jealous. So I'm not jealous anymore, no. But I am still hurt beyond words. Peeta is truly the first boy I've ever loved, and the first I have ever kissed.

"You and me, Bree. We're gonna team up. I'll kick his ass for you," Marvel says, face hardening as he stares off into some unknown world only he can see. "I'll kill them both."

I sit up, scooting into his lap. "I'll take you up on that offer, Marv, but spare the boy. I want to kill the girl myself." At this, he pouts in faux disappointment.

"Party pooper," he accuses, nudging me playfully.

We stay like this, Marvel stroking my hair and holding me, until I fall asleep. When I awaken—which is early—I am under the soft duvet wearing a huge white t-shirt and exercise shorts that clearly don't fit me. I laugh quietly. Look at Marvel, trying to be all helpful by fishing out some of his sleepwear and shoving them on me. No doubt he had quite a bit of fun undressing me. My smile disappears.

I get up and walk (rather, waddle in these huge shorts) to the bathroom, only to find a simple outfit hanging on the hook of the door: a plain, hunter-green shirt with beige slim pants, brown boots with great traction, and a completely oversized, heavy black hooded jacket. I try on the jacket, which swallows me up but is still functional. I shower and dress quickly, throw a myriad of ponytail-holders onto my wrist, tie my hair up into a high bun, and slide on my token, a black headband with my initials embroidered on the front in dark green letters. "BET," Breelle Elispeth Tylk.

As I walk out of my room, I see Marvel dressed in the same thing as me, wearing _his _token (brown aviator sunglasses) as well. Wordlessly, we walk side by side to the hovercraft, his hand grasping mine as if to comfort me. Behind the sunglasses, I know there lies a nerve-wracked boy, not a strong, buff eighteen-year-old attempting to comfort his three-years-younger female tribute. When we climb up the ladder to the hovercraft, we are off to our deaths. I still wonder what his talent could be as I watch him stare off into the distance, stone-faced.

The pilot injects some sort of metal lump into the forearms of Marvel and me. "It's a tracker," the pilot says. "So we know how to find you." I shudder, realizing that I did not previously know that this is how the cameras were able to capture every move of the tributes.

Once we get to our metal plates, we are told not to move from them for 60 seconds, but I know better. I have seen what happens when one steps off of his or her plate too early. You go boom. The end.

I stare at the Cornucopia intensely while counting down from sixty in my head. _Remember, Bree. It's just like stretching at dance. Count._ I start. _Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…_

The seconds do not seem to pass quickly enough. I am well past sixty as I look around at all of the other tributes who still stand on their plates. I decide to risk it. I take one cautious, silent step off of my plate, and remarkably, I don't explode.

Sprinting as fast and as hard as my legs will allow me, I reach the Cornucopia. The hard thudding of the other tributes' footsteps follows me. I grab what I can, being a black backpack, a sword, a knife, and a bow with arrows. Just as I grab the pack of arrows, I can hear the whizzing of a flying knife coming towards me. Swiftly moving out of the way, I let the knife stab some other tribute who was handling a large amount of food. I decide to take some of that too.

I sprint towards the woods now, and I see a girl with a black braid trailing behind her. _Katniss. _I sprint harder, and it's clear that I am closer to her than she realizes. I am almost right behind her when I trip, dropping the bow and arrows I had. Katniss is still running before she realizes I've stopped chasing her, and before I can get to my feet, she snags the bow and arrows and runs off.

Leaping to my feet, I yell out a cry of anger. I almost had her! I am so flustered that I do not hear the soft padding of a hunter's footsteps until a hand lightly taps my shoulder. Instinctively, I draw the knife out of my pocket and hold it to my victim's throat, before I realize that it's Marvel.

"Whoa, whoa, relax!" he whisper-screams. I slowly draw back my knife, still not fully trusting him. He holds up his hands in innocence, dropping a large spear that I'm not even sure I would be able to carry. "I come in peace."

"JESUS, Marv! Don't scare me like that!"

He pulls me into a hug. "I had hoped you'd survive the Cornucopia. When I didn't see you, I thought…" He trails off, but I fully know what he was trying to say.

"I tried to catch her, but she was too quick. She took my bow and arrows," I say, breaking his hold of me. His brow furrows, and I can tell that the realization has sunk in.

"Archery. That's her talent." Marvel picks up his spear aggressively, adopting a new expression that I had never seen before. "She's a distance killer."

"But so are you," I remind him, touching my hand to the spear that he holds so hard that he might break it. He relaxes when my hand touches his.

"Sorry," he says, but I have no idea why he's sorry. Until, that is, he starts punching the trunk of a tree so hard that huge chunks of its bark fall away before the skin of his knuckles does. He punches and punches, letting out all of his anger towards God-knows-what.

I begin to become a little frightened at the Marvel I am witnessing now. He is not the Marvel from last night, the one who comforted me lovingly and held me closely. He is a raging, 6-foot-tall monster.

Finally, I stop him. I can't see him like this, knuckles bleeding with his blood smeared on the tree's raw skin. He tenses his biceps as I grab him from behind. "Stop, Marvel!" I cry. "Punching a tree is not going to help with anything!"

He relaxes in my arms and turns towards me. "I'm so sorry you had to see that. I have anger management issues, and I channel them through training and fighting," he says quietly as he loops one arm around my waist. He then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and pulls my head close to his chest.

I pull away when I notice the silver parachute with a little blue jar attached to it that has landed at my feet. Our first gift, already? Could sponsors have supported either of us so fast? I pick up the jar and read the label, noting that it is ointment for large cuts that prevents against infection. I silently hand it to Marvel, and he dips his fingers in it, rubbing the icy-blue ointment on his knuckles. I reach into my pack and find a bandage, which I wrap around his hand.

"There. Good as new." I gently pat his injured hand, but his head is craned to see behind him, hearing things that only he can hear. Without a word, he shoves me behind his back and grips his spear protectively, while someone emerges from behind the trees.

"Hey, boy," a smooth, familiar male voice says calmly, but with fierce firmness.

"What do _you _want?" Marvel growls, still holding me behind his back.

From behind Marvel's back, I can see the boy. I recognize the body before I can put a name to him. Peeta. He walks slowly and cautiously around Marvel, whose arm I squirm in.

"Let me go, Marv," I say with a slight hint of irritation in my voice. Marvel slowly lets go, and I saunter towards Peeta. "So," I start. "What _do _you want, Peeta? Hm?"

His face drops and he begins to stutter. "I..um..I w-wanted to make an alliance."

I laugh with malice. "You really think that _you _can hang with _us_? Yeah, right."

He blushes stupidly again. "Well, _yeah_. I could be helpful to you guys."

"How?" Marvel chimes in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

"Well, I know that you're trying to kill Katniss. I heard. And I can help you because I know her fighting technique. I know her skills and what she needs to improve on. I know the way to get to her," Peeta says eagerly, eyes narrowing and voice dropping in an attempt to persuade.

Marvel and I exchange glances, and I can see that he quite clearly wants to jam his spear right down Peeta's throat. In fact, I wouldn't mind doing it for him. But Peeta clearly wants to be with us, and I quite enjoy having him and his..er..lips around.

I walk up to Peeta and put my lips close to his ear in the way I know he likes. "Just don't do anything stupid, Loverboy."

He grabs my hip with one hand and whispers back. "As long as it's not for you, gorgeous."

I roll my eyes and kick him in the thigh. This is going to be a loooooonnnng Game.


	7. Chapter 7: Peeta

**DISCLAIMER: I DO USE QUOTES FROM THE BOOK WRITTEN BY SUZANNE COLLINS. I DO NOT CLAIM ANY SIMILAR IDEAS OR WORDS AS MY OWN AND I AM NOT TRYING TO PUBLISH THIS STORY. I RENOUNCE ANY CLAIMS OF COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT.**

Bree and Marvel tread lightly along the wet, dead leaves that scatter the forest floor. I can tell that they have trained for this since they were little. I attempt to emulate the softness with which they walk, but no matter how hard I try my feet thud loudly through the forest. Marvel gives me an evil death glare, looking like he wants to stick his spear through my core like a toothpick in a puff pastry. Pastries sound good right about now…

No, I shouldn't be thinking about food. I shake the thought off when I catch a short glimpse of another tall, muscular boy with brown hair in a buzz-cut. I nudge Bree, who is steadily walking beside me, eyes fixed in the distance. Wordlessly, she looks up and Marvel and nods. Suddenly, a plan is in motion.

Bree and Marvel stand back to back, pulling me with them to form a little triangle. Bree is tensed to fight, and so is Marvel. So, I imitate their stances, holding up my fists while looking towards the boy who is calmly walking closer and closer to us. I look around, noticing that we are surrounded by four people—all kids from the Career districts. I see the boy from District 3, the girl from District 4, and the two tributes from District 2. The boy from District 2 seems to be the leader of the pack, and when I look down, I notice that he is holding a large sword.

He walks up to me and stares me in the eyes, his calculating, deep gold eyes scoping out every aspect of my brain and every fear I have. This goes on for about fifteen seconds before he moves on to Bree, who is imitating his same, calculating stare, and clenching and unclenching her fist around the silver knife in her hand. The boy does something strange: he extends his hand, palm facing upward, towards her. She slowly releases her knife into his hand as he pats her back appreciatively. She moves out of our triangle and stands next to the boy, who introduces himself.

"Hello," he says, in a deep, booming voice. "My name is Cato. District 2. So you guys must be District 1. I recognize you." Cato hesitates. "Especially her, with the 12 point score," he gestures toward Bree, whose face is red in embarrassment. Suddenly, Cato glares at me. "But you're from District 12. You don't belong here."

I am a little nervous when he raises the knife in his hand to my throat, but Bree stops him. "Wait!" she cries.

Marvel raises his spear towards Cato aggressively. "I wouldn't do that. He's with us. He knows how to find and kill the D-12 girl."

Cato considers this for a long moment before dropping the knife to the ground, where Bree scrambles for it. "Alright. But the moment I decide we don't need you, Loverboy," he says, moving dangerously close to my face. "You're dead."

The girl from his District latches onto the massive muscles of his arm. She has brown hair and the same tanned skin that Cato has, and though she looks more delicate, under that veneer lies a far more evil soul, waiting to sadistically kill all of the tributes here. She and Cato fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He introduces this girl as Clove.

And then it is so; we have formed an alliance with the Careers, and we are off to hunt Katniss. I must admit that this is quite a smart plan on my side, so that I can figure out what the Careers are planning and plan around that so that I can save Katniss…and maybe Bree…

We set up camp in a denser part of the forest, making sure the tents are in prime position for us to hunt and to protect from being hunted. While I sit on a tree stump staring blankly off into the distance, I don't even hear her footsteps as Bree approaches me. She's so silent when she moves, not unlike a ninja or an assassin from the extremely old movies that sometimes come on the television. The only thing that gives her away is her small hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, Loverboy," she starts. I jump a bit at the sound of her voice and my palms start to break out into a cold sweat. Her bun has fallen out, and now her hair hangs in long waves down her back as she squats in front of me, head cocked to the side. I hope that she can't see how I am basically drooling over her, but then I think she does because of the way she's grinning at me. Then, she pops a squat right in my lap, lying horizontally across my legs.

"What are you doing?" I ask with a hint of agitation in my voice. "Go find Marvel."

She pouts. "Ouch! That hurt. I thought you'd want to talk to me."

She's right. I do want to talk to her. In fact, I want to do more than just talk. Something in her intense brown eyes makes me want to hold her and protect her and all of the secrets she has, and the other part makes me want to tell her all of _my _secrets. So, gingerly, I prop her up with one hand on her small back and the other across her thighs as she begins to speak, telling me about her life in District 1 and her perfectionist parents; what really interests me is her resolve to protect her younger siblings named Olive and Vernon, reminding me of Katniss. So much like Katniss…

My mind snaps to the current predicament I am facing. If I protect Katniss, I can't protect Bree, and vice versa. I have a feeling Bree knows this and that she might be trying to get the most time with those of whom she is fond of. I hold her closer, and she stops talking and just stares at me with those eyes, mouth parted slightly. I am staring into hers and can't help but caress the soft contours of her face with my eyes. Slowly our faces move closer and closer…

"Bree," Marvel interrupts. He's holding a rock with moss on it. She quickly gets out of my arms and rushes to him. Figures. She already likes him, a boy from her own district. I'm nothing like Marvel, who is twice as handsome and tough as I am. He seems so cool in his aviator sunglasses, like it's a privilege to be in his presence. I become a little unseated by how willing Bree was to leave me sitting on this stupid stump, my lips still parted in anticipation. Marvel coolly wraps his arm around her and presents his rock to her. "I found this. It'll point us in the direction of water. That's probably where the girl is."

"Katniss," I say through my teeth. "Her name is Katniss."

"Whatever." He rests his hand upon Bree's back, giving me a knowing glare. _Don't test me,_ his glare seems to be saying. _She's not yours to have._

I gulp as he sends her on for her to dicuss a plan of action with Cato. I rise as Marvel walks towards me, chest puffed out slightly in superiority.

"Hey, Marv-" I manage to get out before his hand flies up to my throat to choke me. I struggle to free myself from his grip, but he is quite obviously larger than me.

"Shut up," he growls. "Now you listen to me." He lifts up his sunglasses so that I can see his terrifying eyes, the same exact color as Bree's. "You mess with her, and you're dead. I already can't stand having you around, but she loves you, and I love her. So I'm going to put up with you as long as she decides that it's not okay for me to shove my spear right through your stomach." He stops to spit on the ground. I am somewhere between dying and fighting back. "If you hurt her again, you'll be answering to me." He frees my neck and storms away, but then something about his little speech lights up in my brain like a neon sign. _If you hurt her again…_

Had I hurt her before when I announced my love for Katniss? I remember seeing her face, cold and calculating, but hurt? Another part of Marvel's speech crosses my mind. _She already loves you…_

My heart skips a beat. Breelle Tylk loves me! But we've just met… is it possible she could've fallen for me the same way I fell for both her and Katniss? I want to find Bree, but just as I start toward the tent in which she is sitting with Cato, Cato bursts out of the tent, saying, "Let's hunt."

Hunt? I don't know how to hunt. But then I realize that he means people. I killed people in the Cornucopia today; I can kill them on a hunt if I really want to. I grab a nearby knife and agree as the rest of the Careers follow, armed with weapons. Breelle and Cato are armed with their swords; Marvel with his spear; Clove with her plethora of knives; and the rest of the tributes with their own weapons. We walk together until dawn starts to break, when I suddenly spot a warm glow in the woods. I nudge Cato.

"Look, fire!"

He nods his head and gingerly walks towards the girl—who I recognize to be from District 8—I then hear the quick padding of his feet as a bloodcurdling scream fills the air. He killed her!

The rest of the Careers and I sprint towards the grove where the fire still glows. The District 8 girl lies there, motionless. I think I faintly see her chest rise and fall. The girl from District 4 checks Cato's victim for supplies.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking." Cato says, plugging his nose even though no odor is coming from the victim's body. We start to walk a little more.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" District 3 boy asks.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead." Clove says, kicking a rock.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself." Cato is getting flustered now, face turning red.

"Then where's the cannon?" Bree asks, voice rising.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done." Marvel chimes in.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Clove mutters.

Cato explodes. "I said she's dead!"

At this, the argument ensues. I am getting upset and irritated, before I finally cry out, "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

Everyone stops to stare at me, not expecting my outburst. Cato quietly interrupts the silence. "Go then, Loverboy. See for yourself."

I storm of to the direction where the girl was, and jam my knife straight into her heart numerous times. It's sickening, really, but one does what one has to in these sorts of situations, and to protect Katniss, I have to play like a Career.

I have to kill.


	8. Chapter 8: Marvel

I remember the day I met Breelle. She probably doesn't, because I doubt I had any significance to her before the games. But I remember clearly.

It was the fall of my senior year in high school. The air was filled with the rich smell of dying leaves and that special scent that fills the air when it is only fall. As is customary in Olinde Guillemin Country Day School—the most upscale school in all of District 1—all of us seniors (1 and 2) go to an assembly to welcome the freshmen to their first year of high school. We then pass out fresh, hot pastries and hand out personalized written greetings (which was assigned as a summer project).

My friends Rocky, Xander and I are all standing at the very end of the line, not wanting to even associate with the stupid little freshmen who are so eager to start their lives in this hellhole. Xander and I are Senior 1s, meaning that we are in our first year as seniors. (In District 1, the grades go as following: Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior 1, and Senior 2 [to finish of studies before applying them to real life. We once heard that years and years back, there used to be something like this, except it was called _college_].) Rocky is really cool because he's a Senior 2, and he's nineteen years old. He gets all of the girls, but he mostly likes the freshmen because they are easy pickings and all love to be with older guys. "Gotta hit it and quit it," he always says.

I am so bored to the point where I am about to fall asleep, when a quirky little freshman with frizzy, dirty-blond hair walks up to me and holds out her hand expectantly, eyebrows raised.

I look at her sarcastically. "What? What do you want?"

She narrows her eyes. "Give me a pastry. And a note. I want one from you; you're cute." I sigh and roll my eyes, thrusting a warm croissant at her with a balled up piece of paper to her, but she shakes her head. "I want it personalized. Write my name on it. 'Rhiannon,' R-H-I-A-N-N…" she is interrupted.

The telltale clicking of high heels fills my ears before the silky, sultry voice does. "Rhi, that's no way to be talking to a Senior," the voice says. I try to match the voice with the person, but when I do, I swear that I've lost my mind. The girl the voice belongs to is beautiful, yes—most District 1 girls are. But she was more beautiful than any painting I have ever seen in Art Appreciation or any poem I have ever read in Honors Panemanian Literature (my secret favorite class). I stared at her, jaw dropped. She gives me a knowing smile and a quick toss of her hair. Suddenly, I recognize her from the corporate family dinners my father would have over our house. Our fathers are in business together. At dinner, she usually just sits quietly at the table, fiddling with her hair or playing with her food. This confident persona she is putting on now is totally new.

"You're…" I start stupidly.

"Bree Tylk. And you're..?"

I can't think. My mind is mush. _Remember your name, idiot! _I manage to coolly say, "Marvel Corvan."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Corvan," she says, shaking my hand. A jolt of adrenaline pumps through my veins the moment her skin comes in contact with mine. I hand her a croissant and a personalized letter with my address on it and she smiles.

"See, Rhi? You have to be polite." She nudges her friend hard, who cries out in pain, and winks at me.

"Man, she's hot," Rocky says, licking his lips. I slap his arm hard.

"Shut up! She's not a piece of meat. She's something…special."

Months go by, and I am still here admiring Bree from afar. She never did respond to my note, nor did she visit me. I play it off by finding other girls to fool around with, but I can't stop thinking about that auburn-haired girl from the Greeting…

We end up having the same trainer. I always look at her during training, while I'm fighting against some poor contender who ends up losing, but Bree never acknowledges that she is impressed with me, so I assume she is avoiding me. It hurts to think this way because my feelings for her are beginning to grow fonder by the day.

When it's Reaping day, I am hoping that I get picked. Wearing a nice polo and khakis, I am waiting for Gaelyn's hand to slowly reach in for the female ticket…and it's Bree. My heart drops. No, there must be a mistake. I'm not going to let her die! When Gaelyn announces the boy's ticket, I am ecstatic not only because I've waited and trained and sweat and worked for this for my entire life, but also because I get a chance to protect her and save her. I won't be the one to kill her if she does die, and I make that promise to myself as I run up the stage, slapping my friends' hands. God, she looks so beautiful in that sundress…

As we board the train, I realize that though I may try to protect her, she wants to kill me. Little did I know that we'd end up friends.

I am hoping that by some strange piece of luck, we'll both end up surviving this deadly experience so that I can tell her how I really feel…

I'm in love with Breelle Elispeth Tylk.


	9. Chapter 9: Bree

It's the second day. We haven't slept. Or eaten. Or drank. Cato doesn't want to waste supplies.

I am stalking the forest floor, following the subtle hints that tell me where Katniss is headed, but I can't really focus on anything because my right hand is laced around Peeta's slightly callous hand where as my other hand is held possessively in Marvel's large, smooth one. Peeta, Marvel and me's job is to look for water to drink, but to no avail until I realize my boots are muddy. Mud… A small yelp slips from my lips.

"What?" both Peeta and Marvel ask simultaneously. They both grip my hands harder, as if challenging one another to a "let's-see-who-can-protect-Bree-the-best" battle.

I point at the ground. "Mud!"

Peeta raises an eyebrow in suspicion and slowly speaks. "Yeah, what about it?"

Marvel lets go of my hand, and I can tell he's angry from dehydration. "Are you _stupid_? Dirt plus water equals mud. So since there's mud here, there must be water nearby! Did _that _make it through your thick little skull, or do I have to spell it out for you?"

I stand in between them as Peeta's body tenses up, his fists clenching and unclenching. This heat has us all on edge! A horrifyingly evil expression crosses his face, and I'm nervous that he's going to hurt Marvel. Peeta did, after all, get a higher score than him in training. I've never seen this expression on him before, and it is now when I realize that the Games bring out the worst in everyone. I do the only thing I know that will dissolve his will to injure Marvel…

I seize Marvel's face and coerce him into a rough, violent kiss. He holds my face while lacing one of my hands through his hair and the other around his neck. Our mouths are moving in a strange, savage way, and it's not romantic at all. When I start to pull away, he grabs me by the waist (he is clearly stronger than me) and holds me closer to him, kissing my neck. I crane my neck to see Peeta's reaction.

He is just standing there, staring at us making out. I feel horrible for hurting him, but his expression is blank. When Marvel finally lets me go, Peeta speaks absently. "Let's go find that stream, eh?"

Silently, we begin to walk to where the mud gets thicker until the pleasant sound of trickling water rings in my ear… _water!_ My mouth is drier than ever as we sprint to the direction of the trickling. A perfectly clear, sparkling stream glints in the sunlight. We dunk our scorched faces into the cool water, drinking like dogs. In an effort to cool my sun-burnt body, I take off my jacket and unbutton my shirt, exposing the ribbed white tank top I don't recall having put on yesterday. I rip off my pants so that the clean, lacy black cotton underwear I am wearing and the tank top are the only barriers between my skin and the icy stream. As I lay down on a cool, wet rock in the (rather deep) stream, I close my eyes and let the icy flowing water overcome my heat-delirious body and mind and bring my sense of self back. I open my eyes suddenly when I remember that Marvel and Peeta are still here. I look at them.

Marvel is shirtless and wearing only boxer-briefs, causing my jaw to go slack. His body is that of a Greek god's, with his gloriously crafted pectorals and abs. He is just staring wide-eyed at me as he sits in the stream, chest glistening with sweat and water.

Peeta, on the other hand, is standing fully-clothed and holding my garments. I feel like I am getting a mirror image of myself as he, too, stares at me with a gaping mouth. His gorgeous blue eyes are wide with a mix of pleasure and surprise, and his pink lower lip is quivering a bit.

I smile at him sheepishly, embarrassed by my erratic behavior. "Uh..sorry about..erm…_that._" I stand and nervously attempt to loosen the now completely sheer, clingy fabric from my upper body. I believe I've just made things _pretty_ awkward.

Neither Peeta nor Marvel budge, but both of them are staring at the lacy black bra that is visible through my top. "Oh," I say quietly to my chest.

Marvel, the more confident of the two, emerges from the water, and I, myself, cannot help but notice how tightly his underwear now cling to his lower body as well. He gives me a flirtatiously crooked smile and slides the tank top over my head. "There," he says breathily, resting his hand possessively around the small of my back. "Now you'll dry much quicker." I am motionless as he moves the wet hair from in front of my eyes behind my ear, looking at Peeta (who is still standing slack-jawed) with a sort of conquest in his eyes while he does so.

Suddenly, a pile of clothes is chucked at Marvel's head and lands over his face. Peeta's shoves Marvel off of me. "Come on, you two. Stop flirting. We came on a mission, and we have to find some canteens or gourds."

Marvel thrusts the pile of clothes at me, disappointed. "Here," he mutters, storming off to dress himself angrily.

Peeta helpfully assists me into my clothes, and smiles at me after I am fully clothed. "You make anything look good, Bree. You're just a beautiful person, inside and out."

I blush. He is so much sweeter than Marvel, so much more innocent and just all-around _good_. I don't believe that there's anything in the world that can change his goodness…except maybe the murder of his beloved Katniss…

I nudge him playfully. "Thanks, Loverboy. You too."

He looks down at me and kisses me softly on the forehead, whispering softly as he does so. "The cameras can't hear me speaking to you, but pretty soon they are going to zoom in on my lips and decode what I am telling you. I'll be quick." He stops for a short breath, and then continues so quickly that I can barely catch what he's saying. "Marvel told me some…_things_ about you. He told me how you feel about me, and I just want to let you know that I feel the same way. But we can't show it, Bree. The cameras are watching, and if I don't convince all of Panem that Katniss and I are desperately in love—well, I _am _in love with her—we can't get any sponsors. And who knows? Maybe President Snow will have me or Katniss killed." His voice cracks almost unnoticeably when he says her name.

I shudder in disbelief. President Snow wouldn't manipulate the Games that way…would he? I mean, you can't just go around killing random people because they offend you. Maybe he could though. He _is _the President of Panem. The idea of it is inconceivable to me though. All of my life, I have been raised to think the best of the Capitol and President Snow. I can't imagine that a human could do such a thing to another…

In less than a minute, our conversation is over. Peeta smiles sweetly at me for the sake of the cameras and lifts up my sun-burnt arm. "You really need some aloe for this, honey." He can barely get the word out before a silver parachute flies down from the sky and lands at my feet. Aloe. Thanks, Cashmere and Gloss. (They are the District 1 mentors.)

Marvel struts up to the aloe and picks it up. I subtly wink at Peeta, and he smiles back, recognizing my plan. "Marvey," I say innocently. "Can you please put some of this aloe on me? My skin is _scorched_!"

Marvel, unaware of my plan to achieve more sponsors, eagerly nods his head and rubs some of the aloe into his hands. He begins smearing it onto my arms, and then my legs. I guide his large hand to my thigh, and smile flirtatiously at him. I can hear his breath shorten. Just as he starts massaging the greenish substance into my right thigh, a whole basket full of canteens—yes, attached to that telltale silver parachute—lands only a few feet away from us. I pull away from Marvel, exclaiming, "Yes!"

Both Marvel and Peeta have ear-to-ear grins across their faces, but for different reasons. I instruct them to fill up the canteens and us the iodine to purify the water just as Cato and the rest of the Careers appear from the trees. "Well done, well done!" he says while clapping, reminding me of how Marvel behaved when he was drunk. "You've got the canteens. We need the water for our long journey ahead. We've got a lead on where the girl might be."

We run and run for hours on end, getting limited breaks to snack on crackers or to vomit. We finally get to sleep for the night in a quiet grove of the forest. I lay down my sleeping bag outside the tent, since Clove and I are keeping watch. I get to rest first. I lay my head down when the loud sound of the anthem plays overhead. No tributes have died today, and I rest peacefully knowing that Katniss is still alive. My resolve to kill her has weakened in the past day that I've had to get to know Peeta more. I've realized that no amount of ruthless training could ever make me bring myself to take something that means so much to someone out of their lives. I lay quietly and let the sound of the crickets lull me to sleep.

Something jolts me awake. Peeta stands over me and is desperately shaking me awake while I notice the oddly orange-red glow around the woods. Then the thick smoke hits my nostrils. Fire! I throw my sleeping bag and backpack over my shoulder and look around at the tributes who are fleeing in all different directions. I remember my dream from my snug bed at the Capitol Training Centre, feeling like it was already a couple lifetimes ago. Now realizing that my dream of running from an unstoppable force was a premonition of sorts, my feet carry me faster than my mind can react. The whole Career pack is following me as we dodge burning pines and falling trees. I hear a cry of pain from the back of the pack, but I don't dare look back to see who it is. Instead, I am running faster and faster as the flames seem to surround us, leaping over burning logs and ducking under flaming trees. We are running for what seems like ever until we finally reach a circular open plain that is protected from the attack. Then, the retching begins. We all vomit violently from a combination of the thick smoke, intense heat of the fire, and the exhaustion of running for at least two or three hours. I plop down on the ground, exhausted, and curl up in the fetal position right as daylight begins to softly break.


	10. Chapter 10: Bree

**DISCLAIMER: I DO USE QUOTES FROM THE BOOK WRITTEN BY SUZANNE COLLINS. I DO NOT CLAIM ANY SIMILAR IDEAS OR WORDS AS MY OWN AND I AM NOT TRYING TO PUBLISH THIS STORY. I RENOUNCE ANY CLAIMS OF COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT.**

About an hour later, we start again. We are slower, yes. But for some reason, I sense we are getting closer to our target. Raspy coughing echoes through the pack, and then I catch a glimpse of the Girl on Fire, Katniss. I point. "Look!" Everyone looks to where she sits comfortably in a cool spring, and Cato's almost-demonically deep voice cries out, "Run!"

We draw our weapons and chase after Katniss, who is running remarkably fast with a limp. I see her scramble quickly up a tree in a manner similar to that of a squirrel. By the time we reach the base of the tree, we she is at least twenty feet up. I grow angry at her quickness. I try to climb the tree, but quickly stop since the jagged bark is ripping into my skin.

"How's everything with you?" she calls down smugly.

"Well enough. Yourself?" Cato snarls.

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says calculatingly. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?" At this, the rage is boiling my blood, threatening to spew out of my veins and light her tree on fire.

"Think I will," says Cato.

I get a quick glance of the bow and arrows—_my _bow and arrows that Katniss neglected to take up the tree with her. Tossing them to our pack leader, I say, "Here, take this, Cato."

He pushes my offerings away. "No. I'll do better with my sword." He hoists himself into the tree before Katniss scurries up higher like a little tree rat. I make a sad attempt to shoot at her with an arrow, which she grabs and waves teasingly over my head. I can feel my face turning red in anger.

Peeta stops me. "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." Which we all agree upon. We end up staying there until the morning, devising a plan on how to kill the girl who mocks us with her tree-climbing ability. We are sleeping when all of a sudden, a swarm of angry tracker jackers engulfs us. I take off faster than ever because I know the effects a tracker jacker sting can have on a person; one sting can cause hallucinations, several and you're done for. I am running and running until I reach a tree, which I have no problem nimbly and adeptly leaping onto. _Wonder why I didn't do this earlier, _I think while climbing higher than Katniss could ever possibly climb. I am safely out of the reach of the tracker jackers before I realize that I left the bow in the reach of the archer. My heart really drops now. _Shit!_ I think. _Shit, shit, shit! _She must've taken it! I promise myself I'll go retrieve it, but the exhaustion of my time here in the Games gets to me finally, and I sleep. When I wake up, it is a little after morning, but I feel like I have been out for days.

I reach the ground, unscathed by any stingers or venom, and start to where Katniss must be. When I pass the tree where the tracker jacker attack had occurred, I notice the disfigured bodies of the girls from District 4 and District 3. Girl from District 3…. I thought she was dead already!

I look for Katniss, but there is no sign of her. I stalk the woods until nightfall, and realize that I'm quite lonely without my pack. I suddenly notice a small fire glowing in a valley just beyond the stream I had enjoyed a few days ago. I run towards it, sword in hand, and then hide behind the thick trunk of a tree. Watching the scene unfold, I see Katniss inhaling her dinner and watch the little D-11 girl emerge quietly from the woods. Katniss's clear, alto-pitched voice startles me as she says, "You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances."

All is silent for a spilt moment when the D-11 girl, whose name I now recall as being Rue, reveals herself. "You want me for an ally?" she asks in a quiet, childlike voice. She must be only about twelve years old, and suddenly I empathize with her.

I inch a little closer as the exchange unfolds and forms their little alliance. Katniss offers Rue a piece of meat. Rue offers Katniss relief for her stings. Katniss offers Rue a salve for her burn. The list goes on and on and I get quite bored until Katniss begins to talk of Peeta. My ears perk up.

"You know the boy from my district? Peeta? I think he saved my life. But he was with the Careers."

"He's not with them now," Rue affirms. "I've spied on the base camp by the lake. They made it back before they collapsed from the stingers. But he's not there. Maybe he did have you and had to run." Typical Peeta, always trying to protect everyone but himself.

Katniss is silent for a while. The conversation bores me again until Katniss begins to conspire against the other Careers. This has my attention more than anything she has said so far.

"Say the supplies were gone," she begins slowly. "How long would they last?" She takes a moment to lower her voice. "I mean, it's the _Hunger _Games, right?'

I poke my head inconspicuously around the tree as Rue whimpers, "But, Katniss, they're not hungry."

"No, they're not. That's the problem." The light of the fire illuminates her malevolent determination. "I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."

I can stand no more, so I yank out a knife from my bag and emerge from behind the tree. "Fix what, Katniss?" I say in a snarky tone. Both she and Rue turn quickly at the sound of my voice, and Katniss raises her loaded bow at me. I just smile. "Are you trying to kill my friends? Because that wouldn't be very nice," I say, mock-pouting.

Glowering at me, she keeps her arrow fixed on me. "I'll shoot," she threatens. "Don't think I won't. I thought you were dead! I was sure the tracker jackers killed you…"

My grin widens. "A girl with a 12 in training didn't get it for nothing. I'm not just a pretty face, you know." The crowd will love this.

Rue whispers something to Katniss that I don't make out, and Katniss nods her head slowly. Rue clears her throat and says, "We'd like you to be in our alliance."

"Alliance, eh?" I consider, twirling my knife around my fingers. They want me to be part of their plan to kill the Careers. Why not? I'd get a chance to obliterate some of the competition—especially Cato. But then I remember that Marvel is still with them, probably badly hurt from the tracker jacker stings. What if he's dead? I had left him in my selfish flight for safety! My breathing goes shallow. "I…I can't."

Katniss's head cocks to the side. "Why not?"

Is it the time to tell them? Is it the place? How do I really feel about Marvel? Could I kill him without a guilty conscience? I am beginning to find out that the Games are no place for a girl like me. I couldn't possibly kill Peeta, no. I love him too much. But Marvel…could I really?

A flashback of one of the most beautiful scenes in my life plays through my mind. Me, sitting on the plush Capitol bed with Marvel holding me in his arms. I am watching through the eyes of a stranger, and I see him holding me as more than just a little sister. He's holding me like a treasure, like something he couldn't bear to lose. Almost like he loves me… and that's when I reach revelation.

"Because…" I start, lip quivering. The words shock me as the slip from my tongue. "Because I am in love with my partner tribute."

Rue's eyes sadden. Then, she runs up to me and throws her arms around me as sobs rack through my body. I don't know why I'm crying. Maybe because I know Cato could never let Peeta get by with saving Katniss, Cato's target. Maybe because I'll probably never get to tell Marvel how I feel. Maybe because I just need to cry.

Katniss does something strange. She offers me the wing of the cooked bird she was roasting. I wipe my nose and accept it silently, realizing it's a token of our alliance. Between sobs and sniffles, I savagely wolf down the sweet, fatty meat without really tasting it. I shove the other wing down my throat, but end up vomiting it all up because I still feel sick from the smoke and the sobbing.

Katniss wipes my mouth with her shirt. "What's your name?" I am sniffling softly as I mutter my name almost unintelligibly. She then asks me how old I am, and I inform her that I just had my fifteenth birthday.

"When was your birthday?" Rue asks silently, coaxing a dark red liquid into my mouth that must've been delivered by Cashmere and Gloss. I recongnize this stuff. Its Oxykriffon, a sickly-sweet syrupy substance that is known to alleviate almost every type of tummy ache or muscle cramp. My mother used to be addicted to the medicine before she had me, and my father used to joke that my mom had too much Oxykriffon in her system and that's why I came out with red hair, since no one in our entire family history had red hair. I never found it funny.

"My birthday?" I ask, and she nods. "It was four days before the Reaping." I didn't get any gifts that day.

"I'm sorry," Katniss consoles, but I quickly change the subject.

"How do you do this?" I ask.

"Do what?" they both reply at the same time.

"How can you be hungry like this? All I've had to eat in the days we've been here are crackers and air, both of which I'm pretty sure I've vomited up already."

"It's second nature," Katniss starts. "In Districts 11 and 12, we aren't fed much. Especially me. I've had to go weeks without a decent meal."

I immediately regret having taken my hunger for granted and having practically inhaled the pheasant I was so used to eating at home that would've lasted for weeks at the homes of Katniss and Rue.

As we lay out our sleeping bags for the night, I realize that having Katniss, the Girl on Fire, as an ally may not be so bad after all. I am learning to trust her…


	11. Chapter 11: Marvel

Pink and royal blue streaks paint the sky as dawn slowly approaches. I am running hard and quickly, my pack beating on my back and the spear in my hand growing heavier. I have been running for the past hour and a half, finding multiple leads on the location of Bree. I found her monogrammed headband on a low branch of a huge tree; a cracker from her backpack about a half-mile from the site of the tracker jacker attack; a black ponytail holder lying on the ground near the stream where she kissed me… _She really ought to be more careful,_ I think, picking up the black band and putting it around my wrist. Realizing that it's getting quite hot even at dawn, I take off my shirt. I am still running, surprised I have this much stamina in me. Must be from all of that training for three and a half hours a day, seven days a week.

I finally spot three little mounds of black sleeping bags in a valley surrounded by trees. Slowly and ever so quietly, I make my way to the mounds. The long, wavy red hair peeking out of the head of one of the sleeping bags gives me hope. But then I see that there are others here with her. It's the little D-11 girl and the one Cato was so determined to track and kill: Katniss. _Wow. I just stumbled upon her, and Cato, with all of his hi-tech tracking devices (thanks to sponsors), still hasn't killed her, _my mind reasons. Wringing Katniss's neck would be so easy now that she's asleep. Just a quick squeeze…

Bree wakes up suddenly, a sheen of sweat glistening her forehead as her chest rises and falls rapidly in fear. She then looks up at me as I am leaning over her. "Marvel," she whispers.

I smile at her and pull her up and into my arms. "What are you doing here, with _them_?" A strong tone of disgust is laden in my voice. She is making friends with the enemy, which could count against her as a traitor. And one does not want to be on Cato's bad side.

Bree just stops and looks into my eyes. I didn't notice until now that she has her arms laced around my neck. The awareness of everything kicks in: I am here, with the girl I love, holding her. Our bodies touching, yearning to say the words we know that we cannot.

A thought enters my mind and I break the silence. "Let's leave. You and me, Bree. We could make it out alive. Maybe the two of us. We're a team," I say, kissing her neck. "We can kill everyone here."

At those words, she pulls away from me. "Marvel, I can't kill everyone here, for reasons both you and I are well aware of." It's Peeta, that lucky bastard. He's the one who has her heart, not me. My face drops in pain, which I know she can sense because she grabs my hand. "But we _are_ a team," she whispers with wide eyes.

My heart is pounding, and I resort to begging. "Can we leave them, then? Please? Let's go off and live on our own. We can be our own alliance." She packs up her things as I go on trying to persuade her until she interrupts me.

"Let's go."

And so we set off, walking side by side until we get closer to the Cornucopia. The sun is rising higher now, and I can see Bree's features better. Her face is gaunt like that of a person who hasn't eaten in weeks, and I can't help but wonder how she could've changed so much since I last saw her a few days ago. She is looking straight ahead, walking silently.

Without turning to look at me, she asks, "Why are you staring at me?"

"Because you look so hungry." I stop and reach into my pack, digging out one of the two packets of dried fruit I had saved for my trek. When I hand it to her, she looks at my hand in bewilderment.

"Where did you get that?"

"The Cornucopia," I say, emptying the contents of the packet into her small palm. "Cato had been withholding the supplies from us, remember? He finally let us put a small dent in the food."

Her hand shakes a little as she raises it to her mouth. Then she swallows the fruit without even chewing it. She takes another handful, and does the same. After she has finished relishing her "meal," she stares at her empty palm with disappointment. I grab that hand and hold it to my heart.

"I'm yours," I whisper quietly as her breathing speeds up. "I'll give anything for you." A light blush covers her face at my devotion. We are closer to each other now than we have ever been in our lives. I am holding her hips, letting her supple breasts press against my chest. The moment is here and now, and I feel like I should do what I've always wanted to do the right way. I lean down carefully, letting my lips softly touch hers. My hand travels up her spine and she wraps her arms around me. A current of electricity surges through my body as she puts her fingers through the belt loops of my pants, and I hold her to my chest because I am afraid of losing her. Afraid of losing what we have in this moment, the closest I've ever felt to another human being. It's more than just a physical connection; the closer I hold her to me, the more our spirits synchronize and become one.

We fall gently to the ground, and when she puts her hand on the curve of my back, I let out a small moan. As I am straddling her, my fingers gently begin to slide under her shirt and onto her flat, bare stomach before she lets out a sigh.

"I can't," she says softly, resting her hand over mine. So, here comes the spiel about Peeta and blah blah blah love and blah blah blah devotion. I am so tired of this, so I get off of her and start to grab my things. Instead of discussing her love of Peeta to me, Bree runs over to me and seizes my bare arm. "Everything we know is changing, Marvel, but some things are meant to be as they are." It takes me a moment before I realize she means that it was her destiny to love Peeta because there's going to be some sort of divine miracle to save them both.

"You can't have both, Bree," I whisper through my teeth. "It's either me or him."

"You know I can't do that."

"Oh, but you can," I say, practically shaking in rage.

"Marvel, I…" she trails off, so I finish her sentence.

"…Love you. I'm in love with you, Bree. You can rip my heart out or even slice me in half with that sword right now, and nothing would change the fact that I love you and have always been since the day I met you." The words come out like vomit. I don't mean to say them, they just flow. Her jaw is open in shock.

"I do love you," she whispers. "I just never really knew it until now, in the Games where our lives are at stake and we may never make it out alive." She gulps nervously. "But I could never replace him. You know I couldn't."

"Of course," I say. "I don't even know why I asked you to make a choice."

She stares at me for a long while, and then lurches at me to kiss me passionately. This sweet moment of bliss may only last for a short time, but I will remember it till the day I die, be it in a few hours or until I grow old and gray. We melt into the forest floor, becoming one with each other and the earth.


	12. Chapter 12: Bree

Marvel's hand traces the curve of my waist, his skin tingling against my bare body. I'm not sure whether the cameras caught us making love on the forest floor, but I'm hoping for the sake of my parents that they didn't—or at least that the Gamemakers will censor out some of what happened (Marvel can get pretty wild).

We are one, our bodies so close that his heartbeat matches mine. The assortment of short, dark brown curls on his head shine in the sunlight, and his brown eyes glint with a hint of amber. It's funny how the sunlight makes everything more beautiful. We shift so that I am curled up against his warm, bare chest with his arms wrapped around me, protecting me from the evils of the Games.

"You're perfect," he whispers, and I cringe. I love him, I really do. But I regret what I have done. By sleeping with him, I gave him all of myself when most of me belonged to Peeta, anyways. I shake my head.

"No, I'm not," I say quietly. "You're going to make it home, Marv. You're going to find a good girl to marry and have lots of happy babies and get a good job and—"

"Stop," he says, flustered. "I've messed around with so many girls in my life, Bree. But you, you're not just some girl I made love to on a forest floor. You're special; the love of my life. And _we _are going to make it out of here and live happily in District 1."

"You know that can't happen."

"Why not?" He is angry now; his head is propped up on one elbow and his face is beet red. "You thought that you and _him_ could make it out alive!"

He's blown it. Now the crowd will know that he means Peeta, and President Snow will _not _be happy about our little love triangle. I get up and dust the dirt off of my naked body. "Good. Then you can go right back to your stupid little alliance with Cato! I'm done," I cry, shoving my legs through the pant leg.

He rises and watches me dress, staring at me in a hard and calculating manner similar to Katniss's. He finally speaks, "Alright. Just know that I'm not protecting your friends anymore. I'm out for the kill now, too," and I know he means everyone I've ever made an alliance with in the Games. Peeta, Katniss, and Rue are all as good as dead in a fight against Marvel.

With that, he blows a kiss in my direction and walks off, wearing nothing but his backpack and spear in hand. _What a slut,_ I think, oddly laughing to myself.

I don't know what to do now. Do I just sit and wait until someone comes and finds me? No, I no longer have any alliances. I am alone again, and now I realize that my 12 in training did not reflect my emotions about being alone. I walk slowly in the direction Marvel went, replaying our encounter in my head over and over again. Him holding me for dear life, me moaning his name, the sun rising ever higher in the sky…

I reach a part of the woods that I know lies near the Cornucopia because the ground is stained to the core with human blood. I stare at the ground, thinking of all of the parents who have had to watch their children get killed; all of the empty places at the dinner table; all of the empty bedrooms uninhabited by a human for days and for many, an eternity. Just as I raise my foot to take a step, a blast of debris flies at me, knocking me onto the ground.

I black out for a good three minutes, and when I wake up I forget where I am. I am looking around, and notice that the Cornucopia is blown to bits. I do my best to scramble up a tree, but my equilibrium is off so I end up slipping down the tree a bit, skinning my legs. I reach a large branch that enables me to see the Cornucopia, so I stay here as Cato storms out of the woods, beating up many of his little Career minions and screaming at…Marvel? Yes, it is him. He must've thrown his clothes back on. Cato throws things around and narrowly misses Marvel's face with a flaming box. Katniss must've gone through with the plan by turning the District 3 boy's landmines against him. Smart girl.

When Cato sends Marvel off to hunt for whoever blew up the food supplies, I leap out of the tree and sprint (as fast as I can without falling over) to where I think he would go. I stop running when I hear a small child's helpless scream, and I know that Rue must've been caught. I am running faster now, and reach a point where I am standing behind Marvel as he thrusts his spear straight into Rue's (who is caught in some kind of net; I now realize that Marvel was imitating the fighting style of Finnick Odair) stomach. Before I have any time to react, I watch as a silver arrow goes flying straight into his neck, piercing him deeply. _Katniss._

"No!" I scream. I am desperately clutching my love's dying body as it falls knees-first into the ground.

He looks sadly into my eyes, and I get a glimpse of the terrified boy who held my hand the first day of the Games. "I love you," he says softly.

"I love you too—"

Before I can even finish my sentence, he rips out the arrow, his blood spewing all across my face and clothes like a red fountain. I start shrieking helplessly. "NO! NO, NO, NO!" I am hysterical now, my face buried into his shirt that is still warm from his body; that still has the breath of life on it. My fists ball up around the fabric, and I am screaming angrily.

I turn to Katniss, only to see that she, too, is desperate to save Rue. She is holding Rue in her arms, singing some kind of lullaby that makes me think she has the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.

I begin weeping loudly again, but this time for poor young Rue, who had her life stolen away from her at the age of only twelve. I begin to softly hum the melody Katniss is singing, and I realize that I, too, remember hearing this song. It must've been one that was passed along districts during the Rebellion.

When the song is over, I help Katniss decorate Rue with flowers, showing that tributes from different districts can work in harmony. I then take a remainder of the flowers in my palm and arrange them in the chest pocket of Marvel's shirt. Before retreating into the woods with Katniss, I hold Marvel's cold, limp body close to me and whisper softly, "I will always remember you, Marvel Corvan."

We run into the woods and watch as the hovercrafts take away the bodies and Katniss does something strange; she lifts three fingers to her lips and extends them toward Rue's body. I imitate her gesture, and as we cry silently, a checkered cloth attached to a silver parachute lands in Katniss's hands. "Thank you," she whispers to the sky.

I don't realize what she means until she hands me a piece of bread from the cloth. The bread is not smooth and rich like Capitol bread; rather, it is grainy and rough like ration bread. Like the bread I heard that poorer districts get. I look more closely at it, and remember what the assortment of district-themed Capitol breads looked like. This bread is from District 11. The districts are willing to help each other.

This might just be the start of a new Rebellion.


	13. Chapter 13: Bree

I am looking over a large, grassy hill down into the valley I had just exited, which now holds an indescribable amount of sadness in my heart. The wind caresses my hair, and silent, salty tears drip down my face and over my lips. With every swirl, the wind carries away a piece of Rue, a piece of Marvel. A piece of me. Until I am just bones, skin, and muscle without a name nor a heart. In an almost cliché manner, my life flashes quickly before my watery eyes and begin to do something I don't want to: remember.

My name is Breelle Elispeth Tylk. My mother was born in District 1 as well as the rest of her filthy rich family: thirteen Wenterly siblings with money practically oozing out of the perfectly clear pores of their skin. My father was also born a man of status; his family was of the six Tylk siblings who had owned furniture factories, wine factories, numerous restaurants, and car factories and dealerships in their family for over a century. They married not because of love, but because of an arranged marriage.

I grew up in an astoundingly large house, taught by a private tutor until sixth grade. Before my birth, my mother was addicted to Oxykriffon, a multipurpose antidepressant and painkiller. When I turned six, she would beat me around until my body was covered in bruises, claiming it was to make me "tougher." And then she would hide the evidence with makeup. Fortunately, this stopped when I turned eleven, which was the year I started with Mr. Wolffe. I learned how to fight, and I became good at it. The training made me hard in my resolve; I was never to show weakness. In my mind, that included affection of any sorts, unless it was to my twin siblings, Olive and Vernon.

All this was thrown out of the window when I met Marvel. He was perfect; he had the perfect physical traits, the perfect skills, the perfect personality…but I had hardened myself towards him. I always knew that he would watch me in training, that he would try to catch my eye in the hallways. I ignored it. Deep down inside, though, I knew I was suppressing something, and I knew I was somehow hurting him because of it. He became increasingly rude towards me, shoving me into lockers one day and then pushing me into walls the next.

I don't know what it was. Maybe I was just in love with the idea of love. But the night he held me as though we had know each other for lifetimes, something inside me clicked.

Peeta was the other curious case of exception to my rule. I am starting to think that it was repression of my feelings that brought me to "love" him. It's hard to fall in love at first sight. Maybe I am just not good for him to be around… I make a promise to myself that I will never tell him that I love him.

Never in my life had I imagined I would be in this situation, pining over a dead boy and a boy who is probably already dying.

Another tear rolls from my eye and down my lips like a raindrop, leaving the dry trail of memories and pain on my cheek that forces me to close my eyes and let myself be with the trees, the green hills, the thick, dense forests, and the trickling water that will take me to my next destination: Peeta.


	14. Chapter 14: Bree

It's been two days since the deaths of Marvel and Rue. In that time, I have not slept one minute. I just stare into the valley, watching the days go by. Yesterday, Claudius Templesmith announced that there could be two victors if they were from the same district. I'm screwed.

Katniss caught up to me yesterday, and has been trying to get me to eat and sleep, but I feel neither hunger nor exhaustion. Right now, I am watching the sun rise as it paints streaks of pink, yellow, and orange across the sky like a canvas.

Interrupting the eerie stillness of the morning, Katniss taps my shoulder lightly, a melancholy but slightly-irritated look on her face. "Come on. We've got to find Peeta. Plus you've been out here all night and you haven't slept. You need your rest," she huffs, tugging my arm. Since when did she care about the amount of sleep I get? She must've read my facial expression because her face hardens. "Fuck it," she sighs in frustration. "I'm leaving. If you don't want to follow me, that's your deal." That's more like her.

I stare into the rising sun for a good three minutes until I finally decide to follow Katniss. When I get to the tree she had been resting in, however, I discover she's gone. _Typical_, I think, shaking my head. I follow the direction of the creek—which I know she followed—taking in the peaceful nature of the sunlight peeking through the trees. It seems like a crime to have this beautiful of a scene in such a hideous situation.

I walk until it is almost noon. The sun scorches my back, causing me to remove the standard-issue hunter-green button-down from my body. I rub some alone onto my arms, which are always the first to get burnt, until I stumble straight into a pile of huge, bloodstained rocks. Next to the stains, I see muddy bootprints that can only be Katniss's. This must be my first clue. I climb the rocks, and, almost as through a miracle, I stumble upon the sparkling creek. A grin can't control itself from spreading across my face when I spot Katniss squatting over Peeta in the distance.

I begin to shriek maniacally, sprinting towards them until my smile falls. Peeta lies sopping wet and naked, half in the stream and half out. An enormous gash (which is an understatement) begins at his knee and rips all the way up to his pelvis, bone, blood, and pus clearly showing. He attempts to suppress the pain while Katniss calmly tries to come up with a makeshift treatment for him

"Oh my g…" I trail off. Tears dot my eyes as I cry out, "Who did this to you?"

Peeta raises a large hand as a sign for me to calm down. "It's really not that bad…" he lies through his teeth in a raspy, weak voice. His face is deathly pale, devoid of nutrition and gaunt. While I stare at him in disbelief, Katniss gives me a look that tells me to keep my mouth shut and bandages his leg.

They exchange a slightly flirtatious banter, which sort of kills me inside, but then Katniss suddenly interjects, "Peeta, we've got to go now."

"Go?" He looks up under his long blond eyelashes wearily. "Go where?"

She looks around as though she is searching for a legitimate answer. "Away from here. Downstream maybe—"

"Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger, Peeta," I interrupt quietly, resting my hand on his hot back. I hand him his boxers back, and Katniss hoists him up. He pales when he puts his weight on his leg, and Katniss urges, "Come on. You can do this."

"Let me help," I suggest, already propping his arm around me. Just what he wants, a big triangle of love. He looks at me shyly with those bright blue eyes as though he could read exactly what was on my mind. Is my face really _that _expressive?

We reach a cozy cave, where we set Peeta down and Katniss gently brushes the wavy blond hair from his face. He stares at her in pure admiration. Quietly, he says, "Katniss, thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," she replies softly but quickly, touching the back of her hand to his forehead.

"Yes. Look if I don't make it back—" he tries.

I rush over to him and look him directly in the eyes. "Don't talk like that, Peeta. She didn't fix up your leg for nothing."

He stares back at me, wide-eyed, but then glances down. "I know. But just in case I don't—"

Not even giving him a chance to finish, Katniss closes her eyes and interrupts him. "No, Peeta. I don't even want to discuss it." She places a long, slim finger over his lips.

"But I—"

As quickly as the arrow that pierced Marvel's neck, she kisses Peeta. It's not really romantic, but more hurried. Rushed. I try not to show the hurt that is inevitably etched onto my face.

She pushes away from him and grabs his unnaturally pink face. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," he whispers softly, staring at her in awe. He catches my glance, and in return gives me a sheepish look that says, _Sorry. I kind of really love her._

I nod my head back at him in a sad understanding. My fingers find their way to his and lace themselves with his. His feverishly hot hand squeezes mine, letting me know that he still cares for me. Suddenly, he pulls my ear close to his lips. "If it weren't a life-of-death matter," he begins softly, "I would've picked you, honey."

My heart drops ten thousand stories as I stare at him sadly, afraid that I might not ever see him again. Doing what we both know would've happened eventually, I leave the cave. I leave him. I leave Katniss. I leave a brief chapter of my life and head off into the rain, hooded in my thick, black jacket.


	15. Chapter 15: Bree

The rain pours endlessly on my back, causing me to shiver with cold. I reach into my backpack to find the tarp and tent that had been there all along. The tent, however, is somehow missing.

"Damn it!" I dare to scream, slumping against a large old oak. Then the realization runs through my head. This oak has blood stains in the shape of fists on it, and huge chunks of bark are missing from the pale flesh of the tree. Whoever had punched the tree looked like they had done more damage to the tree than to their fists. The memory of Marvel, angry at the world for our placement in the games, appears in my mind. I start to laugh and cry simultaneously, remembering his humor and anger, but then the pain becomes too great to think about.

I scramble up the tree with the little strength I have left, and attempt to make a makeshift tent with my tarp, sleeping bag, and the canopy of leaves concealing me. Because I am failing miserably (and not to mention, getting my utilities soaked), another silver parachute with a black plastic bag attached to it flies down from the dark grey sky. I leap from the tree and open the black bag to find a tent folded next to dried meat, vegetables, and fruits for me.

"Thanks," I mutter softly to the not-present Cashmere and Gloss. After pitching the tent, I climb in quickly and warm myself with a blanket. I basically inhale the beef jerky along with some rainwater I had collected. _Forget saving for later_, I think. _I haven't eaten in days_. The rain lulls me to sleep mid-bite, though.

When I wake up, my body tells me that it must be a day or two later, but the grey sky makes me unsure. I pack my things up to find a new location.

I am still wet and shivering in this jacket, which is really doing little to keep me warm. Mother had once told me about people who have gotten a fatal sickness called hypothermia when they are out in the cold and wet for too long. I guess that's just how I'm going to die, cold and alone.

I am walking aimlessly when a massive hand yanks my ponytail so hard that it causes me to fall to the ground. A frightened cry comes from my mouth as my attacker yanks me up.

As he draws me backwards into his deep chest and pulls a knife to my throat, all of my training goes out of the window. I have absolutely no idea what to do, and I am in panic mode. His familiar, frighteningly-deep voice buzzes in my ear in an almost soothing way. "Hello, Bree."

"Cato!" I cry, struggling and, in the process, slightly cutting my throat on the knife. "Please, don't! Not now!"

He spins me around and easily lifts me up in the air, considering this. He then traces his long knife underneath my clavicle, smiling evilly. "You're so small."

"Let go of me!" I am pushing myself off of me, but he throws me to the ground. I struggle for my backpack, which is about two feet away from me.

Cato slowly walks toward me and steps on my back, causing me to scream out in pain. I try to get to my feet, but he squats over me, laughing and pushing me down every time I try to get up. I finally give up and resign to my new death as he clearly overcomes me. He straddles me between his huge, muscular legs and wipes away the rain from his face with the back of his hand.

"You know," he begins, pinning me down with one muscular arm. "I've always kind of had the hots for you." He laughs, and to my horror, he puts his lips close to my ear. "You'll be the most fun to kill."

Cato traces my cleavage with his knife, and, smiling sadistically, jams it into my stomach. The pain of the stab wound is blinding; my screams fill the air and all I can see is red. Red is everywhere, like looking through a red filter. He stabs me again and again, amounting to three stab wounds. He laughs menacingly and licks my blood from his hand. "Sweet," he starts with a crooked grin. "Like candy."

My eyes are bloodshot, and in an angry and anguished scream, I rip the knife out of my stomach and jam it into his arm. My hand instinctively twists the knife deeply into his bicep, which is enough for him to let me go. I slide out from underneath his legs and somehow have enough God-given strength to grab my bag and limp off. He is chasing after me, I know, so I hide behind Marvel's large oak.

"Feisty," his voice booms. "I like that in a girl. But you can't run for long. I'll win." He pauses for a moment. "I _always _do."

My hot temper tells me to snap back, but my deep and heavily-bleeding stab wound tells me I shouldn't.

"In a way," he continues, his footsteps padding closer to where I am. "You're like my little prize. My perfect-scoring little prize."

This is too much. My animal instincts kick in and I leap up with my sword. "I'm _not _your fucking prize," I say through my teeth, showing that I still have enough strength to slice him in half like salami. I'm not going to go down without a good fight.

The emotions flash on Cato's face; first anger, then shock, and then curiousness. He is much stronger than me, which I finally realize when he slaps the sword from my hand and kicks me to the ground.

Standing over me, he kicks me again. "Maybe not." He spits on me and leaves me dying in the cold.


	16. Chapter 16: Bree

I barely have enough strength to pitch my tent and crawl into it. Curled up in the fetal position, I begin to die slowly. _I wish Katniss were here,_ I think. _So she could just put me out of my misery with an arrow._

The chills rack through my body and nothing, not even my thick jacket, helps. I close my eyes and give up. I have never felt more alone in my life, and I am pretty sure I won't make it till tomorrow. I give eating another try, but my stomach won't let me hold onto anything.

_Hungry _and _dying. Great._

My mind is slipping away from me, and suddenly everything feels very warm and pleasant. The freezing rain has become a sliver of sunlight peering through the slits of the tent. The chills have become a comforting massage. The hunger has subsided and I can smell the warm cinnamon buns my maid makes on Sundays. I hear a lullaby playing on a piano in the distance; it's Katniss's lullaby. The one from the Rebellion so long ago that created this mess I'm in. A beautiful, soothing low voice purrs in my ear. My heartbeat quickens as soon I recognize the voice. _Marvel!_

I get up and run over to where he stands, in a meadow of flowers. He takes my small hand in his larger one, and smiling, he guides me to the ground where we lay and stare at each other. Tears of joy dot my eyes from of the sheer beauty of this scene.

"Bree," he says. "I'm always here with you. You've got to hold on."

I stare at him and caress the soft skin of his face, which feels more real to me now than ever before. Then I look into his beautiful brown eyes. "Marvel," I whisper. "Am I dead?"

"You did die," he begins, grabbing my hand gently. "And so did I."

"So is this Heaven?"

He scoots closer to me. "No, baby."

"What?" I ask, curling up in his arms.

"You're not completely dead. Your heart is beating again. You'll be waking up soon."

"Why am I seeing you then?"

"Because," he starts, caressing my hair. "Because I'm not completely dead either."

I whip my head around. "This is insane. I _saw _you die."

"The Capitol works wonders, Bree." He kisses me on the lips lightly, and everything becomes all too real. The sun is abnormally bright, almost like a fluorescent light. Marvel is gone, and in place of his arms wrapped around me are straps confining my upper body, wrists, and legs. My skin is a perfect porcelain texture and completely hairless, which is easily seen against the sky-blue hospital gown I am wearing. My body goes into a sudden fight-or-flight reaction, and I begin to scream.

"Marvel! MARVEL! SOMEBODY! GET ME OUT OF THIS!" I cry, rattling the whole bed. As I look around I see that I am in some sort of laboratory.

The sliding metal door opens for what seems like an eternity. In walks a papery-looking old man, who has obviously had plastic surgery several times in his life. His cheeks are pulled back way too tightly, causing his dead-looking eyes to seem somewhat slitty and yet large at the same time. Dark blue eyeliner covers the rims of those eyes, making them more menacing. Behind him flank three guards clothed in the traditional white government uniform.

"Hello, Breelle Tylk," he says coldly and expressionless, his face seeming more and more robotic by the second.

"Wh—who are you?" I stutter, attempting to slide my wrists out of the leather restraints.

"President Snow," he says, his slimy voice writhing around me like a water snake. "But think of me more as a friend." He smiles a sharp-toothed smile, which makes me think of him more as a jackal than a friend.

Because of this, I am hesitant to adopt this new title for him. "A friend…" I begin slowly, but breathing in sharply, I continue. "You _killed _all of myfriends."

A crooked, menacing smile crosses his face that, for some reason, reminds me of Cato's when he took delight in murdering me. "Not all of them."

"What? What is that even supposed to mean?"

"Well," Snow begins to pace around the room. "I've made some alternate arrangements for you and a certain person."

"Come on, tell me!"

Snow somehow appears standing over me in an almost inhumanly fast manner considering that he was across the room from me; he takes his withery white hand and backhands my cheek with it. "I do not tolerate disrespect."

The sudden sting of his slap causes me to remember my current predicament. "Where am I? What did you do to me?"

"We gave you a full body polish, of course!" He remarks proudly. He then does the slimiest thing possible: he strokes my face. His hands are even drier than I had imagined and he licks his puffy, disgusting lips. "We couldn't have one of Panem's most beautiful young ladies ruined." Since when does he care about who is "ruined" and who is not?

I stare at him with one eyebrow arched as he undoes the leather straps that confine me. In curiosity, I part the hospital gown to inspect the scar the stab wound would've left behind, only to find one of the greatest surprises of the day. The scar is not only faded, it is nonexistent; the only thing replacing it is my own, satiny-smooth skin.

Snow claps his hands together. "Wonderful, isn't it? The Capitol works wonders."

The discreet hit at my emotions gets to me, but I grit my teeth and smile in a well-executed attempt suppress the anger I feel towards him for having indirectly murdered Marvel.

"We can communicate to you through your dreams—we have the technology for it—and somebody wanted to make sure that you knew that," he adds.

My thoughts snap back to the present. "Where's Marvel, then?" He looks at me quizzically, so I attempt to make it clearer. "If you can save me from death, you _certainly _can save him."

Snow's face falls, and he silently waves for one of the guards to open the second metal door. As the door opens, the guards escort into the room a muscular male with chin-length curly hair sprouting all over his head like a wild plant. He wears a dirty, tattered grey t-shirt and ripped jean shorts, and his hands and ankles are shackled. His rugged, unshaved face is that of a grown man's while his brow is furrowed in pure hatred. I almost don't recognize that chiseled face, those slightly thin, pink, bow-shaped lips, that strong Grecian nose. Those amber-brown eyes.

"Marvel," I cry, running as fast as I can toward him. I throw my arms around him, but he shrugs me away silently. "But…?" I ask quietly, realizing that he has grown about three inches since I saw him last.

"Do you know," he starts quietly. "The pain I've had to go through?" I shake my head, so he starts again. "I'm their slave. Physical tasks, of course. Lifting rocks, construction, mining for gold. They whipped me every day. I watched as they created mutts that looked like us and the rest of the tributes. _Dogs,_ Bree."

A tremendous pang of sadness fills my body. "They sent in dogs?" I question, surprise evident in my tone. He nods. Even though I know the painful answer, I ask, "Why?"

"So they could kill Cato, Katniss—" Marvel hesitates. "And Peeta."

I sigh deeply, and attempt to change the subject. "Cato was the one who killed me."

"I know."

There is a moment of awkward silence in the air before Snow interrupts it. "Well," he huffs. "I guess our little talk here is over. Marvel, we are relocating you. You are to go directly to the mines in District 12. As for you, Bree," he says, tucking a lock of crimson hair behind my ear. "You will follow him. No one in your home District or the Capitol can know that you two exist."

"Why are you _really _setting us free?" Marvel asks suspiciously.

"That's for me to know," Snow growls, glaring at him. "And for you to never find out."

Something in the way he says this doesn't seem right. There were only supposed to be one or two victors, considering that the two were from the same district. "Wait, does that mean that we win?" I ask carefully.

"No," he snaps, eyes narrowing again in disgust. "If anything, you lose." As soon as I open my mouth to ask another question, he motions at the guards to seize hold of Marvel and I. He then slithers close and speaks to me in a low voice. "Oh, and Bree? We know your secret. We see everything," his voice emphasizing the last word.

He doesn't even have to explain what the secret is for me to know exactly what he is talking about. It apparently was obvious enough for him to confront me about it.

I clasp my hands together in a praying position. "Just, please, don't hurt Peeta. Or Katniss."

"They are fighting for their lives as we speak." And with that, he waves for the guards to take Marvel and me away.

I am hysterical now. "Please! Please don't kill them! Don't kill Peeta! Peeta!" One of the guards clamps his hand over my mouth as I scream desperately, trying to clutch on to my invisible Peeta.

They shove Marvel and I into a dismal, grey-walled room, where there are pre-packed suitcases waiting for us. For a brief moment, we exchange a glance, and I can see a mirror image of my expression on his face: the faint outline of watery tears welling up under the same eyes, pink lower lip quivering ever-so-slightly.

I hastily select a black long-sleeved, eyelet dress and black flats from the slimly-packed suitcase. I turn to Marvel, only to watch him chuck his suitcase at the wall in anger. The suitcase isn't broken, though, and I think that it must be another one of the industrial-strength products from the Capitol. He walks over to the unbroken suitcase and pushes his arms against the wall.

"Marv," I say, trying to quiet the obvious wavering of my voice.

"Don't even."

"We will make it out of this, somehow," I reason, more with myself than with him. "I will figure out a way for us—"

He is enraged now, weeping in anger. "They OWN us, Bree! As long as we live, we will always just be the pawns in their little game. We can't get out of this situation, no matter what you do to try to help us. I can't ever see my parents again! They think I'm dead! How can I live with this?"

"I…I know," I whisper softly, slumping against the wall. "I've finally come to that conclusion, too. But we are going to make the most out of this situation, you," I whisper, looking up into his eyes and taking his hand, "and I."

Hand in hand, we are escorted out of the room—out of this chapter of our lives—and onto the train to District 12 to begin our new life together as refugees.

**End of Book One**

**Hey guys! So guessss whatttt? Book One ("The Spark of the Secret")of my Hunger Games Fanfic is finished! I'm working on Book Two (Which goes in chronological order with "Catching Fire" [which i _just_ finished reading, lol]) now! So I should hopefully have the first chapter done by Xmas Break... lol sorry, but you know with school and ishh haha. Anyway, Chapter 16 is the last chapter in Book One and I'm gonna upload it now, so rate/message/comment on the chapter 3**


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